Things I am thankful for

Bellinis at Cipriani & Whisper walls in Grand Central,
Strolls up 5th & photos of one another beneath the Rock Center Tree.,
Sampling enough coffees to give ourselves coronaries,
strolling Christmas Markets in Central Park,
settling in for Sunsets at Stone Rose,
and eating bad Chinese.

That was Day 1.

The second day was Christmas.
I baked a cake. He brought Rugelach and jelly donuts,
we cocktailed all afternoon,
and danced our way down to Cafe Noir.
Our numbers doubled, and over pitchers of punch we laughed and laughed.
Onto the Standard, and our ranks tripled,
over Kirs and burgers and games of ping pong,
there were stolen kisses and face slaps,
not betwixt who you would think,
lots and lots of arm wrestling
and old faces that I long to see all year.

There was a stop at the Jane,
so packed for Christmas night that our jaws dropped
(there were more odd balls like us than we'd realized in New York)
and finally a late night stop for Chicken Tikka and bread.
Holy fuck this is spicy! He joked
as I stole the last piece.

I was apprehensive about Christmas weekend here.
Would I be lonely?
Without glowing fir trees and christmas carols
family and obligations to be jolly?

But it was amazing.
and I realize more as I grow older,
that it isn't just a cliche:
friends are the family that we choose,
and they are fucking delightful.

I am grateful for many things this year-
my big, boisterous family,
my father- who melts my heart with every call,
and mother, the smartest woman I've ever known,
my siblings, the biggest blessing in my world
and their children; who are angels in our midst.

But when I can't go home,
when work calls and flights are steep
and I say, fuck it, I can survive a weekend alone-
(maybe that's what I need after a year of tomfoolery)
It is really nice to know that I don't have to.

And beyond that?

That the adventures will continue.

I am a proud American/Human about 10% of the time. The other 90% I am justified in my belief that we are all dumb dumbs.

Let all the others dress like bonafide professionals for Halloween. I'm drawing back in my childhood unibrow and going as motherfucking Frida Kahlo.

Man oh manischewitz there is a lot going on in the world. Ghaddafi was captured and killed today, the images of his crushed and bloodied face splashed on every second rate blog around the world. Tunisia and Egypt have wrangled freedom from their respective dictators and the heroic people of Yemen and Syria have been fighting for same. Steve Jobs has died. A man in Ohio released 51 captive exotic animals then committed suicide- resulting in the murder of some pretty majestic members of the animal kingdom: bengal tigers, giraffes, monkeys, bears, and lions. And Occupy Wall Street has gained unbelievable steam in the last few weeks- resulting in a 20,000 person march on Times Square this weekend.

And your correspondent? From whence do I emerge after such a long time? And why?

A little update since you last knew me is in order, I suppose. I spent the last 2 years attending Business School, that pantheon to capitalism and self-importance. Did I enjoy it? Well my friends, I traveled (South America, Europe, the Middle East, Africa...only Asia missed the cut) and enjoyed two years of sleeping in- but I'm happy to be back amongst the people, in the working world, where my account balance is finally moving in the right direction.

I accepted a job on Wall Street.

I've learned a lot. I've realized how little sleep I am capable of, and felt the small seed of emergent cojones whose growth only a substantial paycheck can offer. I've upped my shoe game. I've rid my homestead of the Ikea coffee table (next up- the chairs and bookshelves I've scavenged over the years from neighbors). I've read a lot. I read 2 newspapers every morning before your momma's had her coffee. I am woman, hear me RAWWR.

But I've always loved to write. So I'm going to lay it down on you from now on. I need an outlet like Kim Kardashian needs a stepping stool to kiss Senor Humphries.

I may touch on some serious topics. I may be frivolous. But I have never been happier to come back to something, and wanted to say hello.

Day 1 of the rest of my life.

Fuck the police.

That's an absolute lie. Rich girls want your money too, we just don't need it as much.


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French fashion blogger-slash-freelance illustrator (now there's a mouthful for a profession that almost certainly yields no paycheck) Garance Dore took this photo of a baby... at Fashion Week. And posted it on her street style blog.

This poor (beautiful) child.

If the "help me escape" look in this poor bebe's eyes and the handwoven artisinal wizard hat weren't enough to scare the bejeezus out of you- look closer: her nails are motherfucking painted.

Kids in New York.

Hold up, here's another one:



I'd be impressed if every striving young "Gallerina" from Connecticut wasn't carrying that purse at Brinkley's Saturday night.

All I'm saying is, tell your stylist to up her game.

Fairy Tales are for Assholes

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